


Monster, How Should I Feel?

by idrilhadhafang



Series: Ten Facts [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Dark Character, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, PTSD, Prisoner of War, Torture, Writing, parental incest, the horrors of war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-03
Updated: 2012-04-03
Packaged: 2017-11-02 23:52:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/374754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idrilhadhafang/pseuds/idrilhadhafang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some wounds run too deep for healing. One-sided Anakin/Vader, mentioned Anakin/Padme and Luke/Mara. Ten facts about Anakin Skywalker and Darth Vader in the Role Reversal verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monster, How Should I Feel?

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing.
> 
> Author's Notes: This is definitely one of the more difficult pieces that I've done, if only due to Luke-Vader's portrayal in this. Granted, it was also a bit of a milestone for me (in an odd way) considering that it helped me realize what Vader's true intentions were -- good intentions eventually going bad, but even so, I'm not quite happy with what he does to Anakin near the end. It just seems more than slightly out of character for him.
> 
> Warning for triggering content involving non-con/parental incest later. You may want to avoid this if it triggers you.

  
  
  
  
  
1\. Monster:  
  
The weeks that go by turn into months, and months turn into years – time seems to compress into a blur for the man formerly known as Luke Skywalker, with only the connection of Mara  
 _  
Mara, oh Mara. How could I have done this to you? Oh, Mara..._  
  
and Han  
 _  
damn him to hell_  
  
and everyone else he’d sacrificed for the sake of a better world keeping him even close to sane. If anything, he doubts he’ll ever truly be sane. Even with Lumiya’s guidance and patience, even with the common goal of constructing a new Empire, even with the support of the soldiers  
 _  
especi ally Dack, bless him_  
  
it doesn’t seem to ease the pain.  
 _  
Keep the watch,_ Caedus had told him in that hologram  
  
 _ **somehow it doesn’t even feel real**_  
  
but how can he do that, after everything that just happened? When he was betrayed by his wife, and left for dead on the banks of burning lava and fire by the man who might as well have been his brother?  
  
Still, Lord Vader, formerly Luke Skywalker, persists. He doesn’t know why – perhaps he still thinks he has something to achieve. Perhaps he thinks he can do something right in the little time the Force seems to have granted him  
 _  
the Force could not have taken everything from him and not had the mercy to grant him a quick death_  
  
in the time Lumiya’s granted him.  
  
So Vader struggles on, if only for Mara, and for Han, and the galaxy they had once served.  
  
He was no Caedus  
 _  
he doubted he could ever truly be, no matter how Lumiya tried to reassure him_  
  
but at the very least his efforts had to count for...something.

  
  
2\. Broken:  
  
The day Anakin returned home and found Shmi and Cliegg dead, he felt a part of him, a part of him that was still that desert boy who had no idea what the hell the Empire was talking about most of the time  
 _  
and he doubted he ever would. how could one even hope to make sense of all  that death and destruction?_  
  
died that day. The part of him that was the "callow desert boy"  
 _  
as Oris in Rogue Squadron would c all him at times, just to wind him up_  
  
would never quite be the same. Even sitting with the now cremated bodies of Shmi and Cliegg, Anakin turned to Han. "I should have been there sooner."  
  
"It's not your fault, kid."  
  
Anakin squeezed his eyes shut. "I shouldn't have run after R2 like that. I should have -\- "  
  
"Kid," Han said, "If you'd stayed, the Empire would have killed you too. And Threepio and R2 – ’’  
  
He sighed. "Well, I don't want to think about where they'd be right now."  
  
R2 gave a plaintive tootle. Anakin opened his eyes, looked at Han.  
  
"So where do we go from here?" he asked.  
  
"Naboo, of course. It's pretty likely that Bibble and the others will need our help."  
  
"Then let's go."  
  
A flicker of surprise came over Han for a moment -\- and then the former Jedi smiled. "All right then. Looks like we don't have any time to waste."  
  
And despite himself, Anakin grinned. Time to get to work.  
  
  
  
  
  
3\. Monster:  
  
The week of interrogating Padmè seems to have compressed into a blur as well. Padmè reminds him too much of things he’d prefer to forget – of Han and Leia  
 _  
he’d always teased Han about being in love with Leia, no matter how Han tried to deny it, and he still stood by his statement. the way he looked at her, as if she were the most amazing thing he’d ever seen_  
  
of Mara  
 _  
but even at the thought of Mara, he feels like he has trouble breathing_  
  
of the life he could have had, if not for Caedus, his father  
 _  
he still remembers being out in the rain, cursing out the Force, cursing out Caedus, in utter futility. f alling into Lumiya’s arms as she held him and hugged him and reassured him that all would be well. “we’ll change the galaxy together, i promise” –_  
  
of...everything.  
  
Even as he contrinues to interrogate her about the Death Star plans, simple interrogation is not enough. Nothing’s ever truly enough; he feels almost like one of the Force abominations he’s heard in stories, of those only driven by the desire to devour the Force, Dark and Light, until there’s nothing left in the galaxy. And then when it’s all over, they’ll devour themselves.  
  
Padmè keeps bringing up old feelings – feelings of guilt and envy and discontent and jealousy. Even as he continues to hurt her, to cut her and burn her and shock her until she’s all but curled up on the floor, quietly begging him to stop  
 _  
but knowing Padmè, she refuses to beg. he supposes he can at the very least admire her for that_  
  
it’s not enough. He wants to crush her, crush all the things she’s making him feel – feelings of yearning and want and need – _  
  
damn her to hell_  
  
-\- feelings of lenience – _  
  
- \- can’t betray the cause –_  
  
and even lying awake in his bed, Darth Vader doubts he’ll ever truly know peace of mind, ever again.  
  
  
  
4\. Broken:  
  
The day Han was struck down in front of him, Anakin felt like his world had been yanked out from under him. While he wouldn’t say he didn’t care about Shmi and Cliegg  
  
if anything, they were the closest thing he had to parents  
  
at the very least, he had Han as an anchor. Without Han, how could he possibly go on? How could he fight the Empire by himself?  
  
And Han – Han was the closest thing he had to a father. Han had looked after him, nurtured him, taken care of him no matter what.  
  
So even as he fired on the stormtroopers, almost blinded by rage and grief, he didn’t even know what he was doing – he didn’t even realize how he’d put himself in harm’s way up until Padmè took him by the arm, yanking him out of the crossfire just in time. “Anakin – we have to go. We can’t let Han’s sacrifice be in vain.”  
  
And in a way, Anakin realized she was right. Even as he’d protested, even as something in his blood continued to snarl and coil and hiss, urging him to take vengeance on Vader, he knew that Padmè was right. Han sacrificed himself so we could escape. We have to get out of here and make sure that no other systems suffer the same fate of Naboo.  
  
And so he’d run.  
  
And even as Anakin sits in the study that Mothma and the others rented out for him, wincing occasionally as his mechanical hand, the last gift from his father, twitches in pain  
 _  
almost as if reliving Vader’s cruelty with him_  
  
he muses that if not for Padmè, truly, he would never have run.  
  
  
5\. Monster:  
  
Darth Vader thought he knew where he stood, even after Mustafar, even after Han Solo had taken everything from him. But with the appearance of Anakin Skywalker in his life, he finds himself increasingly beginning to doubt himself. After the Battle of Yavin, after having to suffer Lumiya’s punishment for nearly dying out there  
  
if there’s one thing he can give her credit for, it’s that she doesn’t completely disregard him and think he’s nothing, but even that doesn’t quite say much.  
  
after...everything, he finally got to look up the name of the pilot at Yavin IV. Anakin Skywalker. It’s the name Skywalker that somehow makes him feel like his heart’s skipped a beat. Like he’s suddenly stopped breathing.  
  
 _Skywalker.  
  
My son. Mine._  
  
And even that memory, that memory of Mara, that memory of Han – the memories are there, burning hotter than the fires of Mustafar that nearly consumed his flesh before Lumiya found and healed him –  
  
sometimes he can’t help but wonder why she saved him  
  
-\- but somehow, they no longer have the power to crush him, to overpower him. The voices that echo in his dream  
 _  
what have you done, Luke? What have you done?  
_  
seem to die away.  
  
He knows who the boy is. Now he has to find him – bring him home to him.  
  
 _Where are you hiding, Anakin?_ he quietly murmurs to himself. _Where are you hiding, little Jedi? Where have you gone?  
_  
  
  
6\. Broken:  
  
Anakin loves to write. And though he’s barely had time to write, finally, he’s found time to do it. Even as he continues to jot down the horrors he saw of his friends being shot down in battles such as Hoth and beyond, he also writes down the good things he experienced. He writes about laughing with Wedge and Hobbie and the others, and “Dinner Squadron”, and “Silly Squadron”, and the crossdressing contest. He writes about Palpatine, and Padmè, and Jar-Jar, and so many other people he’s met. He writes about Ahsoka teaching Vestara how to play jacks, and Padmè learning to smile  
 _  
how long was it before she learned to smile?_  
  
and Obi-Wan learning to loosen up a bit. He writes about staying up late with Padmè simply to talk and watch the stars, and pointing out constellations, and so many other things. He writes about discovering Palpatine’s stash of porn, and how Hobbie consoled him by allowing him to hide out in his room and watch B-holos with him. He writes about all these things and more.  
  
Because for how imperfect the galaxy was  
 _  
and under Lumiya and Vader, it was even more so. how “perfect” Vader tried to make himself out to be. how delusional he truly was..._  
  
it was a fine place overall, and worth fighting for. Shmi and Cliegg had taught him that from an early age. Even remembering Vader’s words to him on Kashyyyk  
 _  
the Lars have re ally gotten to you, haven’t they?_  
  
and his reply  
 _  
yes they have_  
  
sent a mixture of both pleasure and pain through him at the same time.  
  
Memories of Kashyyyk still burned. He could still remember the fires, and the screams, and Padme’s agony radiating through the Force  
 _  
how he wanted to comfort her, give her solace, but he was frozen in his fear_  
  
and so many other things...but even those things couldn’t truly encapsulate the horror he faced on Kashyyyk.  
  
Bespin...writing about Bespin was easy.  
  
Kashyyyk would be harder.  
  
  
  
  
7\. Monster:  
  
Bespin’s the perfect Jedi trap. If anything, it plays to Anakin’s weaknesses almost flawlessly – if there’s anything Vader’s learned in hunting his son across the galaxy, it’s that the boy has an almost compulsive attachment to protecting those he cares about. Threaten his loved ones, threaten those he cares most about, and the boy is guaranteed to come out of hiding. And then after the bait is placed, it’s easy to snap the trap and close the gate. The fact that Anakin’s reckless  
 _  
perhaps as reckless as I ever was_  
  
only sways the odds further in Vader’s favor.  
  
The boy already instinctively knows he’s Vader’s – now his mind has to catch up. Hopefully on Bespin, the boy will listen to reason and join his father in creating utopia. And if not...  
  
Vader has to suppress a weary sigh. If not, nothing’s at least keeping murder from being an option...  
  
  
  
8\. Broken:  
  
Anakin Skywalker loves to write. He’s done so since he was a boy – when he wasn’t racing speeders or pods through the desert or helping his foster-parents with chores on the farm, he was making up worlds with Kitster, making up fantasy worlds and languages if only to escape the monotony of life on Tatooine – life that never really seemed to change. And sometimes he’d write down dreams he’d have – whether they be daydreams or otherwise. Dreams of leaving sweaty mediocrity behind and soaring amongst the stars. Perhaps taking his family soaring, and his friends. He, Kitster, Wald and the others, taking on the galaxy together.  
  
And even now, he continues to write. Long after he’s well enough to get out of bed, long after his talk with Palpatine, he continues to write. He continues to write about Padmè, and her calm, warm reassurance that kept him from completely snapping and going off the deep end. He continues to write about Obi-Wan, and his wry humor, and his love, as well as Jar-Jar, and Palpatine, and the others. He continues to write about his exploits amongst the stars. He continues to write about his dreams of living in a world where Lumiya and Vader couldn’t reach them. He continues to write about fresh meadows, and the smell of fresh flowers, and waterfalls. He writes all of this and more. He writes about Han and Yoda, and their guidance, and meals at Yoda’s, gently skewering Yoda’s cooking, all the while writing about his wisdom and earnestness and honesty and duty that Anakin so admired.  
  
He writes all of these things, and perhaps more.  
  
The door to the study opens, and C-3PO walks in, carrying drinks. Anakin gratefully takes Threepio’s offer of food – he’s already craving a ruby bliel. And considering Bespin, he’s going to need it.   
  
Even as he continues to write about Bespin – about the deathly cold of the chamber, about the hiss of Vader’s breath as they dueled – even as he continues to write about dueling atop the city, close to the tearing winds, even as he continues to write about the agony of learning Vader was his beloved father  
 _  
Luke Skywalker; how could they possibly be one and the same?_  
  
and the tearing, scorching thirst as he lay, exhausted and dying, hanging from the bottom of Cloud City, Anakin knows that even those experiences could never fully convey the horror of what happened. Vader had done far worse than take his hand, or endanger his friends, or even take away his innocence – he’d stolen his voice.  
  
Writing about Bespin is surprisingly easy. But Kashyyyk...even thinking about Kashyyyk, Anakin can barely breathe.  
  
“Are you all right, Master Anakin?” C-3PO asks.  
  
Anakin smiles. “I’m all right, Threepio.”  
  
“If you say so,” the droid said. “Do you...necessarily have to write about it? I mean, if it upsets you – ’’  
  
“I have to do this,” Anakin says.  
  
“Very well. But why?”  
  
There’s a silence.  
  
“Because if I don’t,” Anakin says, “Others will see fit to repeat the Empire’s mistakes. And I can’t let that happen. And...” He sighs. “And because Vader stole my voice.” He still remembers the nightmares, the inability to articulate the full horror of what Vader had done to him to Mon Mothma, or even Yoda or Han  
 _  
not that it mattered; no doubt they felt it_  
  
or...anyone. But no more.  
  
The galaxy needs to learn the truth. They need to.  
  
  
9\. Monster:  
  
There's a degree of satisfaction in hearing his son scream for him, scream his name against his will -\- even now, looking at the sight of Anakin, lying on the floor, shivering and cold and alone, seeming more like a lost child than the haughty Jedi he makes himself out to be gives Vader something resembling joy. But only resembling. He hasn't felt it in quite a while since Mara died -\- perhaps not even before that. The war burned all semblance of feeling out of him. He lives now only for purpose -\- only to destroy, only to kill.  
  
Only to ravage.  
  
He kneels next to Anakin, gently caresses his face. "Why do you continue to fight, little Annie?" he croons. "Why do you continue to resist when there is no hope?"  
  
"There is still hope."  
  
Even now, someplace deep inside Vader, the phrase stings him. He can still remember Mara's words to him. _You don't have to continue this path, Luke. Come with me. Leave this place. You don't have to become one of them._  
  
And Han --  
  
With a snarl of rage, Vader backhands Anakin across the prison. The boy hits the wall with a soft thud, glares at him in defiance. How depressingly typical of his kind. He still remembers Lusa, and Raynar Thul -\- how they clung to the outdated beliefs of the Jedi _  
  
along with un -Jedi-like lust for revenge_  
  
until their dying breaths. Why did they persist? Did they not realize that the way of the Empire was the only way?  
  
But even now it doesn't matter.  
  
He's so close to Anakin. So close he can practically taste him. Anger, anger and lust...those emotions seem to overwhelm Vader like a tidal wave. He runs a hand through Anakin's hair, smells it. It smells almost like rain. So addictive. So...tantalizing. Something deep in Vader wants to taste every inch of Anakin, every part of him. Something --  
  
There's a part of him, a part of him that is still bound by petty morality that says, no, this isn't right, stop this, but it's squashed as easily as it comes, and he consumes Anakin's mouth, hands continuing to ravage the boy's body. And Anakin gives in...slowly...  
  
It's only when they break apart that Vader sees the anger, the sheer betrayal and hatred in Anakin's eyes, and for a moment, he feels a twinge of guilt. But that is squashed almost as quickly as it comes.  
  
"In time, you'll learn to see things our way," Vader says, running a hand over Anakin's cheek, wiping away the tears that have fallen from the boy's eyes against his will. "Otherwise, young Skywalker -\- I'm afraid you'll have to be finished."  
  
"I'd rather be finished, then."  
  
Vader sighs, stands up. "It may be difficult to negotiate your release, then."  
  
And he walks off, leaving his son behind to weep quietly in the darkness.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
10\. Broken:  
  
Anakin Skywalker loves to write. And after Bespin, after Kashyyyk, after everything he's gone through, it becomes even more important. He continues to write about the wonderful things, such as meeting Padme Amidala, and Jar-Jar, and Chewbacca, and living amongst the Wookiees, almost part of the tribe. And yet at the same time, he continues to write about other, less pleasant things. The galaxy's rule under Emperor Vader and Empress Lumiya, of towns and cities set aflame, of widows and orphans, of children crying for their parents that would never come home. He continues to write of Jar-Jar's pain, and Palpatine's, and Padme's -\- of nightmares that haunted them all, even if they wouldn't quite speak of them.  
  
Occasionally, Threepio or Vestara will, gently, prod him to remember details he'd been trying so hard to forget -\- the memory of Vader's voice hissing into his ear, the taste of Vader in his mouth, the feeling of Vader -\- his father's -\- hands ravaging his body, forcing him to cry out for Vader, to yield to Vader. Forcing him to admit that he was his father's, and no one else's. Vader, hissing obscenities against Han, Vader, addressing his troops.  
  
And occasionally, people such as Wedge or Mothma ask him why he's doing this. Why he's so willing to admit that Vader did all these horrible things, without anger, without hatred, without...anything.  
  
"I've had my share of hate," Anakin says, wincing as he rubs his mechanical hand; it's been the second anniversary since his father had cut it off, and the wound still has yet to heal. "Plenty of it." He still remembers the nightmares, the loathing, the crying -\- the attempts by both Padme and Obi-Wan to comfort him. "I don't wish to see any more."  
  
"How did you even persist in that prison?" Vestara says. "Any lesser man would have cracked."  
  
Anakin closes his eyes, tries to remember. The best he can remember, past the pain, past the agony and unwanted pleasure of Vader's lips on his own, biting and devouring and claiming him hard enough to draw blood, is that what kept him sane were memories of Caedus. Of Padme, of Palpatine, of the others. Of the determination to not let Vader break him. Of sheer force of will -\- that "Jedi hero complex without the training" Wedge teased him about, prior to Hoth. Prior to everything that happened.  
  
"Anakin?" Vestara's voice is hesitant.  
  
Anakin smiles at her. "I think I mostly survived by thinking of the others. About the good in this world -\- about how much it was worth fighting for. I think...if not for everything else, I would have cracked. I would have...given in."   
  
Even remembering that "project" they'd discovered in the depths of the Second Death Star's laboratory makes Anakin shiver.  
  
"And I guess that's a reason we have to rebuild the Order."  
  
"How do you know that your new Order won't repeat the mistakes of the last one?"  
  
There's silence.  
  
"Nothing's ever certain," Anakin says. "But it doesn't mean I can't at least try."  
  
Vestara's lips twitch slightly. "I think Master Yoda would have to disagree."  
  
The two of them laugh.  
  
And somehow, Anakin muses, that one simple moment, that one simple act, means all the difference in the galaxy. Though the dark is generous, and patient, and all but invincible -\- one lone candle, one lone star can hold it back.   
  
Love is more than a candle.  
  
Love, as Caedus says, can ignite the stars.


End file.
